


Unworthy

by beargirl1393



Series: Sherlock Holmes drabbles [6]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Gen, M/M, POV John Watson, Possibly Pre-Slash, Pre-Slash, References to Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-17
Updated: 2013-06-17
Packaged: 2017-12-15 07:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beargirl1393/pseuds/beargirl1393
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Worth Waiting For'. Watson speaks to Holmes about why Holmes feels he is 'worth waiting for'. Holmes' answer surprises him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unworthy

When I returned from my club and saw fresh ink in my journal, I paused. _Who would have been in my room and looked through my personal journal? Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t, nor would the maid, so it could have only been Holmes._

Holmes…Oh dear Lord, that journal had been where I had written down everything important that happened between Holmes and I since my proposal to Mary.

I picked up the journal with shaking hands, my eyes scanning the page quickly. It was where I had written a quick summary of the events I had gone into detail with previously. I had been attempting to consider if Holmes would give me a second chance, and instead I saw how I hurt the other man.

The fresh words at the bottom of the page gave me pause.

**_Because, my dear Watson, you are worth waiting for-SH_** , was written in Holmes’ signature writing. I lost several minutes staring at the words, wondering if Holmes meant them the same way I was interpreting them before I took a deep breath and went searching for my friend.

I found Holmes sitting in his chair by the fireplace, pipe in hand and eyes half-closed, exactly as he had been when I passed through earlier.

“The door has been locked,” Holmes commented without turning his head. “If you wish to speak, that is.”

I blinked. “Do you wish to speak about it? I thought…the softer emotions weren’t your specialty.”

“Nevertheless,” Holmes sighed, opening his eyes and shifting slightly to face me, “The only way I can see to clear this up is to speak of it. So, we shall.”

I nodded, moving to sit in my chair across from Holmes. “You read my journal,” I said, deciding to start there. I had no idea how much he read, and how much he knew I regretted.

“I did,” Holmes admitted. “I went to speak with you, but you were already out when I returned. Your journal was open upon your bed. I intended to close it and sit it on your desk with your others, when I saw my name. I read that page, and decided to leave a message for you.”

“But why Holmes?” I asked. “Why do you deem me ‘worth waiting for’? Why haven’t you cursed me for the heartless cad that I am?”

“The softer passions are not my area,” Holmes said, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. “I have never found one who interested me, who I could love and could love me. When I opened my heart to you John, I gave it to you. I have been described as a machine, an automaton, by you and countless others. Emotions cloud my judgment, yet I cared not because you were different.”

I clenched my hands into fists. I had wounded him worse than I had realized. Holmes had given me his heart, freely and willingly, and I had spat on his offer. An offer he would make to no other.

“And then, you announced your engagement to Miss Morstan,” Holmes continued without opening his eyes. “I realized, at that point, why some would murder for petty jealousy and for love. I was jealous of Miss Morstan, and I loved you. I have at times thought that I would make a better criminal than half of those that I have put away, yet I lacked the resolve. I could not do anything of the sort, in part because it would have made you unhappy. And so, I continued on as though nothing changed, when of course everything had changed. You asked me to be your best man, and I agreed of course. How could I say no to you?”

“Holmes,” I whispered, aghast, but he continued on as if I hadn’t spoken.

“Mycroft knew immediately, of course. He tried to comfort me, but we had never been close and neither of us were good at comforting others. I frequented his club, simply because I needed a place to sit in silence and think while in the company of someone. Mycroft was there, of course, and occasionally we would go to one of the rooms to talk, but often we simply sat together. I stopped going after you married, unable to stand his well-meaning mothering.”

“Holmes,” I tried again, but my voice was no louder than before and again he didn’t listen.

“I began to use morphine whenever I wasn’t actively on a case, as I hoped it would dull my pain. I used cocaine to make it through any time I spent in your company, as I would have not been able to stand it otherwise. Yet, simultaneously, I also craved your company with a hunger to rival any for food, drugs, or cases. I could not tell you this, of course, as married life suited you well and you were oh so happy with Miss Morstan. When Moriarty attempted to kill me, I was more than half tempted to allow him to succeed.”

“Holmes!” I cried, and now my voice was louder, rising to nearly a shriek at the end. To hear that your dearest friend and beloved had contemplated suicide, of a sort, is horrifying, and to know that it was _Holmes_ who thought of it…never even in his blackest moods had he considered taking his life. What had I done to him? Why hadn’t I asked him before I proposed to Mary?

“I didn’t however, as I knew you would likely grieve at the loss of a friend, and so I did my all to outsmart Moriarty and return safely,” Holmes continued, turning to face me. His eyes were just as clouded with emotion and pain as they had been ever since I announced my engagement. “Mycroft attempted to convince me to begin afresh elsewhere. I had no end of aliases set up during my work, it would have been simple to continue living as one of them.”

I froze at the mention of how close I came to losing my friend (and more) once again. How many times have I nearly lost him, unknowingly?

“I could not, of course, as I needed to see you again. As soon as it was safe to do so, I returned and sought you out, bringing you on another case and hoping that you would not be adverse to sharing rooms after I learned of Miss Morstan’s passing. I knew better than to hope for more, of course. I am merely a passing fancy to you, perfect to satisfy your carnal needs while you wait to find another pretty lass to be your wife.”

“That’s not true Holmes!” I cried. I could have handled him calling me any and all manner of ill names as, in truth, I deserve each of them, but I cannot stand to hear him demean himself.

“Isn’t it?” Holmes asked, smirking self-deprecatingly. “There was a time I would have believed that. I was a fool Watson, and I remain a fool to this day. If you asked me to resume our prior relationship, I likely would consent. I need you, dear boy, far more than I could possibly make you realize. You are a weakness for me, of course, and I would give in. Even considering how long you will stay now, how long it will be before another pretty thing in a bonnet catches your eye and sends you down on one knee, I still would take you back. You are worth waiting for Watson, and I would have to be a simpleton not to realize that. You do not realize your worth at times. It is my own fault that I was unworthy.”

“Holmes,” I tried once more, imploring him to let me speak, to attempt to atone for all of the wounds I unknowingly caused. He just shook his head, put on his coat, and left our flat.


End file.
